Harbinger
by Ozzyols
Summary: Sam called them ‘beacons of hope’ he called them ‘harbingers of doom’.


**Harbinger**

**by: **Ozzyols   
**Character(s): **Josh, Annabeth, Donna

**Pairing:** Josh/Donna implied  
**Category: **Angst  
**Rating:** Y/Teen  
**Summary: **Sam called them 'beacons of hope'; he called them 'harbingers of doom'.  
**Spoiler:** Yes, Spoilers based on sides for Election Night 2.  
**Feedback:** Please  
**Authors Notes:** No ownership of any character or situations in this fic implied.

Thanks to Caz once again. Thanks to Shelley on JDTalk at Yahoo for the impetus via her posts.

The elevator was taking forever…

It had happened again… he wasn't there… he had turned his back for what only seemed like a second. Why was it that every time he took his eyes off the ball someone ended up in one of these places… a hospital.

Joanie… his Dad… the President… Donna… Leo…

He hated hospitals. Really hated hospitals.

Sam called them 'beacons of hope'; he called them 'harbingers of doom'.

They were all the same. No matter how upscale, there was still… something about them - the cold clinical smell of the disinfectants; the eerie glow of fluorescent lights; the piped music in the elevators; the clicking of sensible shoes on tiled floors; the sounds and smells of the sick, the injured and… the dying. The beeps and rasps of machines keeping people alive… and worst of all, by far the worst of all… the well meaning people offering sympathy and platitudes, well meaning - but useless.

Josh knew they were just doing their job; he knew that all they wanted to do was help…

How could a stranger help an eight year old understand why his sister had to die?

How could an administrator help a grieving son work through the insurance papers that his Mom couldn't handle?

How could any of them help when your world was crashing down around you?

Oh, he had the utmost respect for the staff and their work… he just couldn't stand hospitals, that was all.

They held too many… bad memories.

The doors of the elevator opened and finally he was freed from the metallic prison.

His legs were moving before the doors were fully open.

In the distance, he could see a forest of blacks and blues, and there – in the middle of it all – sat a figure in fire engine red.

Hearing the sound of his shoe leather slapping the floor as he ran, the diminutive figure stood up.

He slowed down and instantly saw the mascara which stained her cheeks.

_God! No… No no no no no no nononononononononono_… his mind started gibbering.

She didn't say a word. There were none. No words could possibly articulate the grief that he saw in her eyes.

He opened and closed his mouth - but was unable to make a sound.

Annabeth shook her head slowly.

He could see her struggling to hold back her tears, the muscles in her jaw working as she fought the shock and grief that threatened to overcome her.

"He's dead."

Her words finally pushed her over the edge as, like a river bursting its banks, Annabeth put her hands over her face and sobbed. The muffled sound of her weeping was the only noise in the corridor as Josh stepped forward and drew her gently into his embrace. She clung to him and buried her face into the lower part of his chest.

It was odd. All emotion seemed to drain away from him. He didn't feel… anything… it was as though a void had suddenly appeared where his heart should be.

He couldn't cry. Not because he didn't want to, or because it was 'unmanly'. He just couldn't. There was nothing there… Why was there nothing there? There should be something, surely?

Confused, he turned around, still comforting the weeping woman in his arms, his hand absently stroking her hair in an attempt to soothe her.

As he turned, he became suddenly aware of Donna standing behind him. In his rush he had forgotten she was with him.

She just stood there – as always his silent sentinel - tears of her own streaming down her porcelain cheeks, resembling those of a weeping Madonna.

In her eyes he saw not only grief, but concern. She was watching him. Through her own heartache she was concerned… about him.

He tried to smile at her. To let her know that it was OK. That _he_ was OK. As far as he could be, anyway. She held his gaze.

Trust her to worry about him right now. He loved her so much and he was so thankful that she was back in his life. Never more so than at this moment.

He felt his own throat tighten and his pulse rate increase. Not here; not now. He would _not_ fall apart. Forcing the feelings back down, he swallowed, trying to moisten his parched mouth.

"We need to tell the others."

The tiny form in his arms started to pull away. Looking down at Annabeth's eyes, made red and puffy by her tears, he could nonetheless see a flinty resolution in them. He could tell that she had made up her mind to control her emotions, watching her jaw ripple as she mentally strengthened that resolve.

His attention was caught by a hand on his shoulder and a soft voice calling his name.

"Josh."

Turning back to Donna he saw she was holding out a cell phone.

He took it from her and moved over to one side of the hallway as he dialled.

It rang a couple of times before someone answered.

"Hey, it's me. I need to talk to the Congressman…."

He held his voice flat, still devoid of any emotion… he would _not _break… not now…

_Several hours later…_

The secret service let him pass without question.

The room was in disarray. Things strewn around and left wherever they had fallen during the frantic events of that afternoon.

Somewhere else in the hotel, the staff was watching the numbers with a mix of grief-stricken reserve and nervous anticipation. On any other day, on any other campaign he would have been down there with them. Shoulder to shoulder, in the thick of it.

Now he didn't care. It was someone else's problem, now. The fight seemed to have suddenly drained out of him. After months and months of scraping and scrounging to keep the campaign on track, fighting all comers from both sides of the fence, he suddenly wanted to be someplace else.

Moving around the debris littering the room, Josh lightly fingered a few items without really touching them. Mallory would be there soon and she should be the one to look after her Dad's things. He should call housekeeping and at least get some of this mess tidied up before she got there.

He sat down on the edge of the bed near the table and reached for the phone, knocking Leo's wallet to the ground in the process.

It flopped open in his palm as he picked it up. It was a wallet that had seen a lot of use. The leather was worn and subtle to the touch. Around the edges of the stitching, Josh could make out the original color of the leather before time and sweat had stained it to its current shade. It had a slightly curved shape from years of living in a pocket.

On the inside were two of those clear plastic windows where you could put credit- cards or photos. Leo had opted for the photos. The one of the left was a fairly recent one of Mallory cradling her baby.

The one on the right was a copy of a photo that hung on Josh's wall at home – it was from the first Bartlet for America campaign. It had been an action shot taken by a press corps photographer, taken only seconds after Governor Bartlet had been declared the winner, and President Elect. The shot was of CJ, Sam, Toby, Leo and himself – eyes wide with shocked wonder, grabbing at each other in a massive bear hug.

They all looked so young and energetic. Even Leo's eyes were bright with excitement.

Josh studied the pictures for a moment longer and then noticed the inscription underneath each one. Mallory's read – "My girl". Under theirs it read – "My kids."

A single tear ran down his cheek.


End file.
